


Casualties

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Big Sister Maggie Sawyer, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Mission, Protective Jimmy Olsen, Protective Siblings, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: Their varying states disarray smother the initial relief she felt upon seeing them, instead propelling only unspoken questions into the detective’s mind.The centrality of them all boiling down to what the hell happened?But she doesn’t voice that thought aloud. Not now.Now all she can do is help.





	Casualties

It’s going to be a late day at work.

Maggie glances away from her phone, back to the window speckled with drops of dewy rain.

That text message was sent hours ago when the orange orb of the sun was just beginning to disappear underneath the skyline of National City

Now the sky is dark. Thick, rumbling clouds blotting out the speckled white stars of the night.

The city imitates nature.

With more than half of the citizens having gone to the bed much earlier than the early morning hours of the current morning.

And the detective wonders where she should draw the line between worried and truly concerned.

Because Alex is a federal agent. The brunette is more than capable of taking care of herself.

Should she ever be in danger, she had a whole team of close-knit agents ready to fight for her, not to mention her sister.

Anyone on the wrong side of the younger Danvers sister would have a lot of heat headed their way, especially when family was involved.

Though the same could certainly be said vice versa.

But still. It had been hours.

And it’s rubbing her wrong.

You’re being paranoid, she thinks to herself.

The recent invasion still has her on edge.

Every night is a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts.

Of not wanting to sleep because of the nightmares, and then wanting too, needing to block out the omnipresent heaviness of reality.

Because God, she can still hear the screams, can feel the heat of the flames, can see the rush of anger behind tightly held guns.

And she hadn’t even lost anyone in the battle.

A collage of missing persons’ photos, photos of people still not found in the rubble the southernmost part of National City had been reduced to, is there for her every morning when she walks into the precinct and waiting to haunt her dreams when she goes home every night.

So, sleep has been hard to come by.

It’s just too damn hard.

The clock is pricking towards a quarter past two, when finally, she hears familiar, but unexpected voices outside their apartment door.

The words are muted, mostly undecipherable at first, but she’s convinced that it can’t be Alex because Alex has perfected the art of creeping in at inopportune hours, and after a few seconds of listening, the dominating one, a deep, rich baritone, is unmistakable.

James Olsen.

The worry brims itself up to the surface again almost instantaneously.

Because James is rarely here in the spur of the moment.

He’s more like Alex in that regard, always needing to have a plan, which means if he’s here now...

Keys stridently jingle and the door is opening before she can make a visible effort towards it.

And sure enough, the tall, dark-skinned journalist is the first one through the door.

Clad in a mussed business suit dampened slightly by the rain, a detail that tells the detective he hadn’t exactly planned on being here either.

His tired eyes, sheened with concern and relief, scan the vicinity, instantly meeting her own.

And as he shuffles forward, head held high, shoulders back, he mouths a don’t panic.

Those words have never done anything to quell someone’s worry.

But James is already speaking, words that obviously aren’t aimed at her. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Deep and soothing, and very purposeful.

Because as soon as he’s in, Alex is right behind him.

Her eyes squinting into tiny slits, acclimating from the harsh fluorescent bulbs of the hallway to the amber lights of their home.

She’s limping, carrying herself very deliberately on her left side, pressing an ice pack firmly against her forehead.

The brunette's other hand is outstretched firmly on the last person to enter the room.

Kara.

Not in uniform, but not entirely in civvies either.

Moving with small steps on shaking legs.

Eyes averted carefully downwards.

And… and…. and her hands...

Gnarled and twisted and stained with a drying crimson.

Held stiffly extended in front of her, not clenched, but not straightened either.

Their varying states disarray smother the initial relief she felt upon seeing them, instead propelling only unspoken questions into the detective’s mind.

The centrality of them all boiling down to what the hell happened?

But she doesn’t voice that thought aloud. Not now.

Now all she can do is help.

“Come on. Let’s just get to the couch.”

Maggie isn’t sure when she stood.

Doesn't remember how she crossed the room.

But she’s here now.

Shifting herself under Alex’s good shoulder, helping her girlfriend when she stumbles forward.

Even when the movement forces the sisters apart.

And James is instantly shifting the half a step back toward Kara, who doesn’t even seem to notice the sudden loss of touch.

Closing the door with the heel of his foot.

“Hey, Sawyer.”

Alex whispers slowly.

The exhaustion is clear, the worry is too, but the pain is thinly veiled.

A poor attempt to hide the hurt.

But for Alex’s sake… The detective doesn’t question it.

“Hey, Danvers.” 

Maggie whispers back, tries not to wince at how Alex stiffens, even as she leans closer, instead burrowing her eyes into James until he looks back at her.

Demanding an answer to the obvious, silent inquiry.

Because Alex should be at a hospital and Kara should… should at least be under some sun lamps.

But his eyes say later. They say not now.

“I’m fine, Mags. I’m fine, really.”

Alex says hoarsely, as they deposit the sisters onto the couch.

Even when the gash on her forehead is painfully present and the bruises on her side are already beginning to rise.

The detective smirks softly, even when her heart's still racing. 

“You look like you lost a fight against Mayweather, Danvers.”

Which earns a soft chuckle, that quickly morphs to a groan.

And the detective’s eyes flit between the three recent occupants of the apartment.

At Alex, who’s, despite the present pain, is already stiffly turning towards her younger sister.

At Kara, whose head presses into the crooks of her elbows, hands trembling in front of her, body more rigid than half of those she sees in the morgue.

At James, who hovers above them all, hand rubbing against his jaw.

Obviously working through his mental plan.

And the confusion is burning to the forefront of her mind once more.

“We’re gonna get you guys patched up real quick. Stay here okay…Maggie and I will be right back.”

And Maggie knows full well that it would only take one of them to retrieve the first aid kit.

Knows that he’s likely using this opportunity to give her answers.

So, she only hesitates for half a second before squeezing Alex’s hand and climbing to her feet.

James doesn’t say anything in the short trip to Alex’s bathroom.

Doesn’t say anything as he starts rifling through drawers and cabinets

Doesn’t say anything until she says something first.

“James! Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” 

And the dark-skinned journalist pauses his movements, pinching the bridge of his nose as he moves to lean against the sink.

His gaze sliding past her into the bedroom, then by proxy the living room where the Danvers sisters, bruised and battered, are hunched together on the sofa.

Then shakes his head silently and beckons her forward as he turns on rushing water and closes the door.

Only speaking once he’s sure he can’t be overheard.

 “I… I wasn’t there, Sawyer. I was at CatCo.”

His deep baritone lowers a notch.

Even when, three rooms separating the group, they’re the only ones in the vicinity.

“From what Winn told me, they sent Supergirl into a mission against a Zenterran, except they didn’t know it was a Zenterran.”

Oh… Oh.

She’s never seen a Zenterran in real life, only in the textbooks mandated by the police department.

Bipedal humanoids with yellowish skin, four arms, and body composed of an extraordinary number of neurons.

Neurons that afforded a multitude of psychic abilities.

The rumbling uneasiness that comes with that reality is hard to quell.

“And because they didn’t know it was psychic, they didn’t make her take any precautions.” 

He continues, fingers tapping anxiously against the plastic casing of the first aid kit.

“Suicidal son of bitch was looking to be a martyr. He got to Kara. Made her see something, I don’t know what. Probably won’t know what for a while…”

James pauses for a moment.

A faraway look in his eyes.

“Kara went after him with everything. Everything. Even when he was down. But she wasn’t stopping. Wasn’t going to stop. Because with whatever she saw.... By the time Alex got there, he was next to dead.”

This time the pause is much longer.

It does nothing to quell the nerves nor calm the heart in her chest.

“And Alex?”  

 James offers her a morose smile, but focuses on the smooth tile of the bathroom floor.

 “Supergirl doesn’t kill.”

Maggie nods.

Because Kara is young. Kara is youthful. But she is also naive.

Killing someone, anyone, what that does to a person, is nothing she would ever wish on anyone.

Realization flitters to the surface.

“Alex… Alex tried to stop her.”

The detective murmurs.

He shrugs as if there are weights on his shoulders.

“Tried. And of course, kryptonite was out of the question when it came to subduing her. But what Alex did… You know running into that girl is like crashing into a wall.”

Maggie can see it in her head.

Alex running to get to her sister.

Even in all that rain that power that rage.

Crashing into her, even when all things considered...

“So how’d they get-”

“She blew her powers.”

 The startling shortness of his words is sudden.  

And Maggie remembers Kara’s hands, twisted and bruised and bloody.

She’s only ever heard about Kara solar flaring in passing, but it makes terrible sense now. 

“But she still wouldn’t stop, so J’onn got her off and they called me because whatever he did hasn’t left her system, she was refusing to go back to the DEO.”

Maggie swallows hard.

“And where Kara goes, Alex follows.”

She finishes.

James nods sullenly, snapping the water faucet off.

And the door to the restroom is open again.

….

It’s difficult treating either of the Danvers sisters, if only because they are both so stubborn.

Alex is only focused on her sister.  

Says that she’s fine, even when it’s clear she isn’t.

Tilting her head to the right as she speaks, squinting in the light, sitting so purposely stiff.

But Maggie has done this before and the best thing to do when Alex gets like this is just flat out ignore it. And clean the cuts and bruises and scars anyway.

James does the same with Kara.

Not asking again after he explains the first time what he needs to do.

Straightening her fingers when they can barely uncurl, snapping the crooked ones back into place.

Kara’s practically quaking in her spot as he does, several shades paler than normal, jaw clenched shut, frenzied eyes burning holes into the soft cotton of her grey sweats.

And it must be painful.

The bones moving back into their proper joints sounds painful.

But if it is, Kara doesn’t voice it, at least not verbally.

The detective is fairly sure the only reason she hasn’t bolted is because Alex is talking to her through the whole thing in a continuous stream of quiet whispers.

Like James, keeping everything as soothing and calming as possible, as Kara, covered in layers upon layers of blankets, leans into her sister’s shoulder.

With the crimson gone, the skin of the blonde’s split knuckles is swollen and fleshy, and noticeably not healing.

The palms of her hands tinge blue, her fingers are bluer.

It takes a moment to figure out that Kara’s not shaking because she’s scared, but maybe because she’s cold.

Because when Kara has her powers she tends to run warm, what most would consider fever temperature. Like a furnace, Alex had said. And without the added energy coursing through her…

So when she’s done with the butterfly bandages on Alex’s ghastly head wound, she grabs an extra blanket from the bedroom.

It doesn’t make a difference.

They thank her anyway.

Rather James and Alex thank her.

Kara is silent, staring unfocused into the middle distance, oblivious to either of their scrutiny.

Hands not wavering from their extended position, even when James has finished wrapping her hands.

And after coaxing Alex into taking a few ibuprofen, so when the pain inevitably catches up it won’t be debilitating, the triage is complete.

Or at least all the triage that a journalist and a detective can do.

The clock only barely inching past a quarter to four.

For a moment, everyone is quiet.

Then James is standing up, knees popping as he collapses in the armchair across from them.

And the detective takes it as a cue to stand up as well, moving to the empty spot between Alex and the arm of the couch.

Sliding onto the cushions. Intertwining her fingers with Alex’s, as the taller brunette leans in instinctively.

Her girlfriend’s ringlets of wet hair feel damp against her own as the elder Danvers relaxes into her touch.

The heaviness doesn’t go away.

She supposes it won’t for a while.

… … …

James needs to leave.

He doesn't want to, but he needs to do.

As interim head of Catco, it is his responsibility to quell whatever rumors that may have stemmed from this event, and though the DEO is good at covering their tracks, they can’t exactly erase what people saw.

He puts on a film to help drown out the heaviness.

A black and white musical from the thirties. Can’t get any more go-lucky than that.

So that, at least, they can pretend this is normal.

That an incapacitated alien, a bloodied special agent, a waterlogged journalist, and a police detective, surrounded by the remnants of a first aid bandages is part of any normal person’s Thursday night activities.

It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. Except, not nearly as funny.

Olsen says he’ll drop back in, in a few hours.

Then hovers by the door for a moment before saying he’ll talk to J’onn too.

Alex nods, Kara stiffens, Maggie thanks him.

And when the door closes behind him, minutes pass, then an hour, in almost a complete silence.

If the detective didn’t know any better she would assume that the sisters were sleeping.

After all, both of their eyes are firmly shut.

But Alex is too stiff and Kara can still be felt shivering through her girlfriend by proxy, so she knows they’re not.

Her own worry refuses to let her relax even in the slightest and she wonders how long they can keep this going before one of the Danvers sisters will give into the pain.

The question is answered, when Kara abruptly sits up.

Uncurling herself with a barely stifled groan.

“I’m… I’m going to the bathroom.”

The first words Kara’s spoken all night are hoarse and crackly.

And the pain isn’t nearly as thinly veiled as Alex’s.

Evident in both her tone and her actions.

But she refuses help from them both.

And Maggie can only watch Alex watch Kara shuffle toward their bedroom.

Palming her way along the walls, even when, this being Alex’s apartment, Kara should know the route by heart. 

“Is she going to be okay?”

She asks as soon as she hears the bathroom door shut.

At first, Alex doesn’t answer.

Voicing her opinion nonverbally as she nods, then shakes her head, then shrugs.

Wiping the back of her now trembling hand over her salt-filled eyes and then covering her mouth.

And the detective regrets ever saying anything, but it needs to be asked.

Because if Kara’s not going to be okay…

So they sit for a moment more, until Alex finally finds her voice.

“Kara… Kara doesn’t know how to process pain. Solar flaring….. She’s so used to being on the other extreme, of not feeling anything… that… that when it’s all taken away… It destroys everything about her physiology. It wrecks her vision, practically cuts off her hearing, she can’t even… can’t even stay warm.  The first time she bled, she flipped out.  And now between this and the Zenterran. She should really be at the... she needs to be at the DEO, but she wouldn’t… she wouldn’t...”

Alex trails off.

But she can’t finish her sentence, can’t even hold the detective’s eyes for longer than a few seconds.

“James told me what happened.”

Maggie starts softly, the reflection of the television bouncing shadows across their faces.

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

Alex whispers.

Eyes drifting back to the bedroom door.

“You stopped her from killing that man.”

The detective rebuts gently, but Alex is already shaking her head.

“Did it matter though? I don’t even know what that bastard told her… But all I could hear was her… her just screaming. And she wasn’t stopping. And I’ve never seen her… so…. so… mad.”

Maggie doesn’t know what to say to that.

But she knows it’s likely that that man is as good as dead.

And when Kara realizes it’s going to destroy her.

“And… And she needs to get checked out, but she’s freaking out the slightest mention of the DEO, flinching at the J’onn’s name, she went ballistic on Vasquez. I should have been faster.”

She whispers, tears finally spilling over.

“Alex, look at me.”

Alex doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

“Alex.”

And when finally, her girlfriend turns to face her, the detective finds herself tracing her thumbs under Alex’s eyes, wiping away the tears.

The movement only makes the tears flow easily, until Alex is biting her lip, pressing into the ridge of the detective’s shoulder.

“She didn’t run from you, did she?”

“What?”

“Kara. She didn’t run from you. You said she refused to have anything to do with the DEO, Olsen said they had to call him because of it, but she didn’t run from you. You work at the DEO, you practically live at the DEO, but she didn’t run from you. That must count for something, right?” 

Her girlfriend is silent.

And Maggie gently nudges Alex in the ribs.

 “Yeah… I guess.”

 But she doesn’t sound entirely too convinced.

So the detective moves on.

“Give her time… and if she doesn’t sleep it off by tomorrow, then we can talk about corralling her back towards the DEO.” 

Alex nods tearfully.

Weakly, then firmer as she tries to convince herself that this is the right course of action.

“Come on, we should check on Kara.”

 Because she knows that Alex won’t truly be at ease until she has eyes on her sister.

The taller brunette struggles to her feet.

And when Alex sways, when her girlfriend can’t quite use the couch for support, Maggie jumps to help.

They make their way to the bedroom slowly.

Alex pretends nothing hurts.

Maggie pretends not to notice her limp.

…. …. …. ….

“Kara, are you okay in there?” 

The detective takes the liberty of knocking on the door.

There is water running, hot steam billowing out from the crevices of the door.

But there’s still no answer.  Same as the first two times they’d asked.

“Just open it, Mags.”

Alex says from the dresser she’s perched against.

The burning strain of standing with all those bruises finally taking its toll.

The handles turns without resistance, but it still feels as if she’s intruding, as the undulating heat burrows into them full force.    

Kara is perched on the edge of the toilet.

Legs drawn up tightly against her body and encircled by those brawny, sweater encased arms that make it painfully obvious how much wear and tear she’s been through in the recent hours.

It makes her look painfully small.

It makes her look fragile.

“Kara?”

Alex whispers.

But Kara doesn't respond. Doesn’t even flinch.

“Kara.”

Alex says louder. Firmer. And the detective remembers what was said about Kara’s hearing.

Still there isn’t a response.

For a frightening moment Maggie is paralyzed, thinking of everything that could be wrong, because if Kara won’t answer to Alex, then she won’t answer to anyone.

But then the blonde finally looks up.

Eyes red and dark, lip quivering as she whispers hoarsely: “I’m… I’m c-cold.”

Oh. Oh…

And the blonde sounds so defeated, so crushed.

It makes the detective want to find the man that did this and shoot him herself.

“I know Kara. I know…”

Alex murmurs.

And she’s pulling the detective into the steamy bathroom with her.

Until it’s the three of them, curled up on the tiles of the bathroom floor.  

Casualties of a game that won’t ever end.

And it won’t necessarily make anything better…

But for right now it’s all they have.


End file.
